


Through the Lens of the Beholder

by RubixaSeraph



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Ambiguous Gender Reader, Family, Friendship, Gen, Not Beta Read, Other, iconophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23112979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubixaSeraph/pseuds/RubixaSeraph
Summary: A frozen moment in time can look and feel a lot different than a moment passing you by. You know that intimately, through the lens of your camera, and from the print of your photos.Your thin blood ties with the supernatural kept you grounded in the face of what others would find to be world-shattering phenomenon.You're not a disasters photographer. No, the disaster isn't what you're interested in.It's the hunters and friends of the Devil May Cry; a cracked but still-standing family with a depth to their story that even they might overlook. (And, you might add, each and every one of them was a sight to behold; perfect for an iconophilia like you.)[Iconophilia - Love of images or icons.][Photographer!Reader, slight canon divergence (for reader's existence), following your photo-filled journey with the cast through DMC5. Reader is also familiar with the concept and existence of the supernatural. Might include romantic undertones but no solid relationships established for this particular work. You will ogle all of the cast. All of them. Disclaimer: Author is not a professional photographer.]
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	1. Just in Time, With the Blink of an Eye

It was an accident, really. But as you would say, in photography, the best photographic results come from happy accidents. Most of the time, they are the most candid.

If you could count a brush against death a happy accident...

You were a semi-professional photographer. Mostly, you traveled to take photos of what you liked, documenting things of beauty... beauty that was in the eye of the beholder; the beholder that was the lens of your camera. And on this particularly fine day off work, you were planning on going to one of the larger parks in Redgrave, the city you lived in.

A few people have told you that taking copious amounts of photos of flowers was basic and boring, often forgetting that flowers were not the only thing you took photos of. You didn't care if you looked like just another shutterbug tourist. Every year, you would add to your collection of photos of flowers. Peonies, lilacs, heather, freesias, and all else that bloomed in Europe in May. It was your tradition every year, so you plan for it every year. No flower was the same to you, and you liked your calming and highly personal ritual.

Those plans itself went okay, until something strangely out of ordinary happened.

Granted, you yourself had no room to talk when it came to what's ordinary.

But that... thing, growing in the city from the direction of the abandoned hillside house... You knew demonic when you saw it.

Now, curiosity may not be a safe compulsion, but you were a daring soul; life through your lens was more than just still photos of flowers.

You took shots of the ever-growing structure (or perhaps it should be called growth?) from a distance, all the way until you've made near the site of commotion on foot. By that point, a gloom had set in, and the day almost finished dusking.

The knife hidden at your back, under your shirt, hummed in warning. It always took good care of you, even if it were a bit nagging.

Deftly and with your own tricks, you made your way discretely to the top of a nearby building. You then dug around your padded bag for cleaning solution and a cloth for your lens, and adjusted the settings for night-time shots. By the time you were ready and held the camera up, your knife's humming became a little more insistent.

 _Just a little while longer..._ You thought back to it.

From the angle you were at, you brought your camera up towards the sky. The demonic growth currently made up for the right part of your composition. The clouded sky made for the left. A slight parting in the clouds was letting the waxing moon come into view. In a few more days, it would be full. Shame that wasn't now.

You steadied yourself, adjusted the zoom carefully, and waited. Just a little longer, and the clouds would part just enough to no longer obscure the night's natural light source. And then...

And then...

Your knife pulsed. Something exploded.

And your finger tapped the button for the shutter.

Two figures plus what was probably a golem had burst forth from the demonic growth. You were startled, but you would not lose composure. That's how you miss good shots.

Usually, you'd take a moment to look at the preview on the digital screen. But the knife pulsed again, more urgent this time. With familiar ease, you began taking the camera apart to stow into the compartments of your bag, gaze flicking over a few times towards two men that had landed from the explosion; one had white hair, the other black. The golem had... melted away, you think? You weren't too sure. Wasn't paying that much attention to the scene anymore. Your knife was becoming insistent...

And on the next pulse, you knew what it meant. You have overstayed, and you had to act. By reflex you grabbed it from its sheath from your back, and lashed out at the grotesque tendril that burst forth from the ground.

You were just in time. As always. Your knife sliced open the offending appendage, and you made sure to grab your bag as you put a few paces of distance between you and the demonic thing.

Inhale, exhale. Focus, snap.

At the snap of your fingers, the wound of your attacker glowed and burst as if something violently tried to hewn through that very cut. To your relief, the demonic tendril turned to ash. If it were any tougher, you knew you wouldn't stand a chance.

"Well, I guess it's time to leave the scene..."

With a deep and steady breath, you pulled again at your meager but well-practiced magical abilities, aided by the power of your knife, and cloaked yourself in a magical shroud; unseen, unheard, and unscented to others.

Well, most others.

You glanced over towards the back of the crowd, as the white-haired young man was leaving the horrifying scene. You could see his jaw set in a manner of frustration. He did not panic, though he walked away with a few anxious glances back towards the people already skewered, his companion urging him to leave.

And you could have sworn he scrutinized the spot you stood at, briefly, before continuing on with the evacuation.

* * *

  
Your apartment was still in one piece. The power was surprisingly still running in the past three days. People were being evacuated, and you certainly had the choice to leave.

But as you stared at the spreading growths taking over your city, you felt both gnawing worry and curiosity.

And you couldn't decide if you ought to leave or stay.

Having finally plugged the SD card into your computer and looked through the photos you took, you were surprised at what you managed to capture with your last photo. With luck, the moment you took the photo captured the two men that had burst from the demonic growth, falling. The chunks of debris didn't obscure anything important in the composition, and the lighting from the moon above and city lights below was perfect. It was only a shame they were so high up and you weren't any closer with the zoom.

You presume them to be hunters, though you oddly could have sworn the man on the back of the golem had black hair, not white. It's a shame this wasn't the clearest of photos.

Well, no matter. This hunter bound in black leather with the silver cane... dwarfed by the golem that was probably under his command, yet that exact assumption your had made his presence larger in your eyes.

The other hunter with the short white hair commanded a different kind of attention. For one thing, you squinted at the image, he was missing his right forearm. And yet he still had a sword on his back, and had clearly went to that... tree-thing, for a fight. Tenacity. That's what you saw.

You hardly ever felt like your intuitions from what you feel through photographs were wrong...but it's not something you really tell others, though. 

A sudden squawk from your window startled you. By the time you grabbed your knife and rushed over to look out, the shadow of a large bird was already ducking out of your view. You were only just in time to see it fly down through the broken and open doors of the abandoned convenience store diagonally across the street from your second story apartment. Abandoned because people from this block were nearly all evacuated or dead. Broken down door because _you_ were the one who forced them open just two nights ago. 

Wait. Why would a large bird fly inside a small building to begin with?

You stared down intently at the store. You also realized now that your knife was humming; not quite a warning whistle, but a notice that something supernatural was about.

And then you saw him step halfway out the doorway, a large demonic panther at his feet, and a large bird at his shoulder. Silver cane, dark hair, black leather. 

Ah, this is all sorts of confusing. What colour was his hair supposed to be? But that was besides the point. They weren't looking up at you. They were looking down the bend of the street, where those large ant-like demons were prowling down. 

Deep breath. Exhale. 

You made a decision. 

Stealthing and scrambling to put a new SD card into your camera, you made your way to your open patio. Today, you were going to add a whole new kind of story and experience to your album. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading such a short beginning to a small project that... I can't hardly remember what inspired me to start this, beyond the fact that I keep revisiting the DMC5 library and looking at all the photographs unlocked for the bosses. Something reminded me of a past long gone for me and I got sentimental, and I wanted to channel it into something. Hence, this.
> 
> I do plan on the reader interacting with the cast at some point; this chapter might as well just be a prologue or setup. It was something I scrounged together at work.
> 
> Incidentally...  
> \- I am not a professionally trained photographer; what I know are bits and pieces from a childhood with my shutterbug mother.  
> \- This is my first time trying to write a reader-view fic. I find myself mulling around a lot of difficult decisions on how ambiguous or detailed I should make the "reader character" compared to an OC, which I am usually very detailed about. I hope I do not disappoint.  
> \- Author has missing details from supplemental materials such as Visions of V and Before the Nightmare. This will hopefully be rectified soon.


	2. Tea Set Tone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it starts, with the hunter in Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Many apologies for slow updates, but I got a little too deep into my other projects. Still, this was meant to be something like a “warm ups” work and I’ve decided it’s a good place for me to just wax poetic with “word porn” of how beautiful the DMC characters are. So I’ve decided the chapters for this work will be short and sweet.   
> \- I’ve also updated a tag or two, and the summary a little. Yep, going the full nine yards and what-not. It says what it says: we’re here to ogle the cast.

Demon bugs are hardly what you would consider nice-looking. Not that they were really the main subject of your attention right now. 

Cloaked in stealth magics on your open balcony, you made sure to wound the strap of your camera securely about your left hand, ensuring you won't lose your camera in the event that something happens. 

Your knife, which you hadn't bothered to properly holster in your rush, was simply tucked into the waist of your pants, somewhat uncomfortably at your back. It hummed a sigh at you. 

The scene through your lens was definitely a sight to behold. Though familiar with the supernatural, you can't say you've been privy to action like this. The hunter's familiars were clearly suited for different types of combat. Though when you thought about it, just looking at the forms the demon familiars had, it made sense. 

You snapped another photo during the panther’s attack, hoping you got a good shot of that sweet scythe-swipe from the liquid shadow in cat form. So far you have been focusing on the fighting demons. Though you had a single photo of the hunter, a purposeful photo was different than an accidental one. 

You typically tried not to take photos of people without permission, though it still happens from time to time...

You almost gasped when the hunter suddenly teleported into view of your shot, and in one fantastic flourish, finished off the target with his cane. 

You felt the impulse to run your hand over your knife at your back, seeing the silver glint of the cane. But your hand must not leave your camera. You hit the shutter button a few more times, noting that the hunter made quick work through the next few demons. You almost couldn’t keep up with his teleporting. (You were fairly certain you didn’t, actually. There were going to be blurry shots you’ll need to delete later.)

It was also worth noting that he personally ended every foe; you mentally hummed to yourself and zoomed your shot in on him, but not snapping anything. You could see ink on his skin. It was familiar. A type of contract marking, perhaps?

Briefly you thought of the knife at your back, and of your family. 

But then your senses snapped to attention as the hunter looked back, and you felt a nervous jolt, for it seemed he made eye contact with you through your lens. But then his gaze shifted towards your left, and your knife also hummed a warning. 

Bringing your camera down, your right hand went towards your knife, the camera still securely in your left hand. 

A flying green bug demon was by your balcony, right in front of you, though looking down toward the hunter and his entourage. 

You could have left it alone. You really could have, and never expose yourself. After all, you could only hold one spell going at a time. If you were to attack now, in order to make the attack really count, you’d have to drop your stealth.

Except, if you wanted to know more, and especially if you wanted more photos, then making contact with the hunter should be eventual. What better way to introduce yourself by showing off your offensive ability?

One step over, and a purposeful exhale; you feel the spell drop, you arc your knife up in one smooth slash. The demon was taken by surprise for sure. 

Flipping the knife so that you could bring it up and keep it between your teeth, it freed up your right hand; you weren’t as practiced with this ability as you were with the other two, but it’s saved you plenty of times when you went “paranormal” shooting. But the first impression was going to matter. You made sure to concentrate the magic acutely, and snapped. The wound sizzled, glowed, and opened itself further and painfully. 

The demon dropped out of the sky, but it was clearly not dead. Well then...

“Of course you won’t drop dead the first time...” You noted after taking the knife from your teeth. It was time to show off your final ability. Drawing upon the knife’s powers, you unfurled a pair of dark shadowy wings [*], and expertly climbed over your balcony railing to glide down. This was the first time you’ve done this from your balcony; getting seen by the neighbors and passing people used to be a concern. But today you got the satisfaction of dropping down on your opponent. 

The wings dissolved right as you landed so that you could charge your magic with the knife again. One stab into the flying monstrosity’s head, you stood up, and snapped one last time. The knife and wound glowed in heated light. Your theatrics were never necessarily explosive. It was more like searing hot metal; in a good matchup where you weren’t outclassed in, you would say that your attacks are meant to work like running a heated knife through butter.

Retrieving your knife from the dissolving corpse, you had to feel a little pleased with yourself. The knife felt pleased also. You could tell. 

But it was time to assess the situation at hand. You looked towards the hunter, flanked by the panther and the bird, who were making their way towards you with understandable interest. You sheathed your knife after noting the area seemed pretty clear, not wanting to come off too hostile. As they came near, you also slightly adjusted your stance to something more casual and comfortable. 

The bird spoke from his shoulder: “Well, well. A straggler is still around these parts. Should probably tell them to leave, too? Not safe here. Right, V?” 

It seemed the bird was mocking the hunter, V, in some manner. An inside joke?

V lightly rolled his shoulder and flicked his gaze at the mouthy fowl, who cackled and took off. The hunter measured you with his gaze as he pulled something from his jacket: a book. You could tell that it was a well-loved personal item. But your gaze did not remain upon the book he opened. It was important to you to see where his gaze went, also. 

He definitely saw your camera in your left hand. You moved to hold it casually but carefully in your hand, almost mirroring how he cradled his book. A light smile tugged at his lips as his gaze flicked towards his pages, and he finally spoke:

“I love to rise on a summer morn,

When birds are singing on every tree;

The distant huntsman winds his horn,

And the skylark sings with me:

Oh what sweet company!”

He finalized his performance by closing the book and making eye contact with you in a manner that told you he anticipated your response. 

"I'm a photographer, not a literature professor, if that answers anything...” You somewhat understood what the recitation was about, but honestly, it was a little unnecessary for a conversation. You will admit it’s charming, though. 

“A photographer...” The phrase was present like a thoughtful hum as V glanced back towards the odd tree-like structures. “What you document here is a bit morbid, don’t you think?”

“Actually, I’ve been trying to make it as less morbid as possible.” You had seen what happened to people who were pierced by the tendrils that broke through the ground. The remnants left behind were dreadful and haunting. While it made for interesting photos, the first night after you witnessed what happened, you had sat in the darkness of your room, contemplating what was happening while you dealt with the emotions you had over the matter. Since then, you had actually taken a few active measures when you went out: “I have enough photos of dead people. The knife isn’t all for show…” 

The bird spoke up again, this time from the nearest streetlamp: “Well, hey! I think we’ve found our other little helper the evacuees were describing! Little ‘Blinking Phantom’ is a shutterbug, huh?”

You couldn’t help but snort. “Blinking Phantom? People are calling me that? Lame.” You didn’t like staying long, or being seen, so any encounters have been a rinse and repeat of stealth, unstealth, attack, and stealth again. “I suppose it’s not inaccurate, though. A little too on the nose. I hope people aren’t expecting me to be around every incident, though. I’m not made of a reservoir of stamina…”

“Hmmm… I see. Curious, those abilities of yours.” V eyed you carefully, and his panther-demon partner prowled between the two of you, bright eyes trained upon you. 

“I could say the same for you, sporting contract markings out in the open like that. Though it’s not like the average person would see them as anything more than eccentric tattoos.”

“Then it would appear we both possess wisps of knowledge regarding that which many do not see.”

Hearing this, you casually walked back towards the front door to your flat, motioning to invite this enigmatic hunter and his companions in, wanting to exchange information: “Shall we discuss this, and more, over tea, then-”

But alas, you did have the habit of locking your door after entering, and you had left from your balcony. The doorknob did not turn, and your keys… were on the other side. 

You couldn’t help but be embarrassed over this: “Sorry, one moment.” Touching up on your magic again, you summoned your wings once more to get yourself back up to your balcony. But no sooner had you made your way through the sliding glass doors of your balcony, you heard something aflutter behind you, and something landing. Turning, you caught the demonic bird just leaving from V’s outstretched hand, only to dissipate suddenly, particles flowing to the back of the hunter. 

Definitely contracted familiars, then. 

You smiled and gestured politely towards the inside of your apartment: “Make yourself comfortable. Your friends are welcome to prowl.” You added as the panther reformed from the shadows at V’s feet. 

For a moment, it appeared that V was contemplative. But you had some familiarity with the occult; if anything, you were willing to bet that he had some light form of communication with his familiars, and the bird certainly seemed chatty. 

“The offer of tea is appreciated. Since you don’t mind…” He followed you in, and paused just momentarily to take in the setup of your apartment living room. A computer desk, some typical furnishings for a living room to sit at and enjoy TV at, some photo frames along the walls. The bird rematerialized and immediately took roost on the back of your couch. “Whoo! Got any biscuits to go with the tea? Or rats! Yeah, I’d like that over a cup of tea... if I could drink it!”

“Griffon, don’t make rude demands from our host.” V simply chided as he took a seat on the same couch. 

“Ooooh yeah, you would know everything about proper manners, dontcha, paper boy?” The bird, Griffon, gave his snide response, but otherwise shut his beak.

The panther, as if it were a house cat, climbed on as to lounge beside its master, the entire trio effectively taking up the entire couch. Well, this wasn’t a problem for you. 

“Black tea sound okay? Should be an acceptable staple.”

“That would be fine.”

You nodded, set your camera down at your computer desk, and left them to their own devices for all of five minutes. With a kettle on the stove, you brought your recently cleaned tea set with milk and sugar out to the living room coffee table. In went the leaves, and then another trip for the water kettle. When you came back with the hot water, V was examining one of the teacups from the tray. 

“You have some curious trinkets...silver lined teacups with runes to ward and warn of poison…”

“My grandmother’s set. Never did need the extra stuff that came with it, though. I rarely have guests. Who was going to poison me? Myself? I’d hate to have my name in the newspaper obituaries like that.” You responded in jest as you poured the hot water into the pot. 

“And what name would be in print, should that come to pass?” V asked smoothly. 

You pause. That was some way of taking a conversation and turning it into introductions. So you gave him your name.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, then, (Y/N). You may call me V. This would be Griffon… And her name,” He ran one hand through the panther’s fur, and you saw the red markings glow pleasantly. “...is Shadow.”

“The pleasure is mine.” You weren’t going to pry into the obvious fact that ‘V’ was barely a real name. You knew better. “So, an exchange of information, then? Over my offer of tea, I would like to ask first if you can tell me what is happening to the city I live in.”

V’s gaze was once again measuring as he brought his cane in front of him, both hands folded over the handle. 

“I believe you’ve witnessed first hand already what is happening. It’s pretty plain. There’s a demonic tree growing here. The Qliphoth. It drinks human blood, and will become the instrument to a demon lord’s ascension into greater power.”

There were a lot of things you could have said to this. It was both typical, and concerning. You had always known the existence of the occult. But you still tended to take tall tales similar to the story of Sparda’s legends from 2000 years ago for granted. It was hard to be concerned about how real those catastrophic events were when you haven’t experienced them yourself. 

That is, until now. 

“Is there a way to stop it?” You’re not sure if you really cared about the answer. You were no fool… whatever the answer was, it was probably beyond you.

“You need not concern yourself about that. Though it might take a little bit of time, my… associate, will be sufficiently prepared to handle this.” He responded with a smile that seemed to carry some sort of depressing amusement, and took a sip of the offered tea. 

So it may have been beyond you, but it wasn’t beyond them. 

“So, (Y/N), in light of these answers, what do you plan to do now? Sooner or later, there will be no other civilians left in the city… preferably because the rest have been evacuated. But the military will be attempting to move in, soon. They may force you to leave. Although, it would appear that you have your ways of… disappearing.” 

V was very straight to the point on this matter. So you could only respond candidly: “Father’s a witch. That aside, I’m an iconophilia. It’s the only part of my life that isn’t drab and basic. At this point, I have no workplace to go back to, and it’s only luck that this block of the city still functions. It’s either I leave and be homeless, or I stay and do something that I enjoy, however selfish it may be… and I am trying to help where I can.”

He made no comment on your parentage; you assumed he probably didn’t need further explanation, seeing as he was pretty witch-y himself. “A lover of images and icons, I see…” V’s gaze lingered on the camera you had left in front of your computer. You are not surprised that someone who goes around reciting poetry would know what ‘iconophilia’ meant. “So your photography is for your own satisfaction?”

“Mostly, things stay in my private collection. I have taken photos to sell here and there before. Scenes for travel agencies. A photo for a newspaper here and there. One wedding photoshoot that I will never repeat again.” You shuddered at the memory. It was an absolute droll, being at a wedding of people you didn't know or care about, dealing with fussy people who didn’t know a thing about how to be in a photo. And the photos themselves barely told a good story. “And then, of course, the occasional occultic column or website will pay a pretty penny for a genuine shitty photo of a demon or two.” You grinned at that. “If only they knew how genuine those photos were.”

Griffon squawked a laugh. “Hah! Well, shutterbug, if you need more models, I’ll pose for ya anytime! Check this out!” The demonic bird made a few poses, and you laughed with him.

“I might take you up for it. Though… I may have already snapped a few…” You told them sheepishly. “I don’t often take photos of specific people without asking, so it’s a little belated, but if you’d give me permission…”

“May I see these?” V suddenly asked, his expression something solemn yet serious. 

You had to oblige. Happy to, in fact. He wasn’t quite sure how to operate your camera’s functions at first, but you couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t the most straightforward process. 

What was currently on your camera were only the photos shot of V’s most recent encounter. There were definitely a few shots that needed to be deleted. Griffon made a few comments from the side, clearly one to play the “annoying pet” in their pact. Things like “Ooh I like that one” or “that’s not a very flattering pose, V” and the likes. 

Eventually, V said: “I hadn’t ever thought about it much, but my mother took photos on the occasion. Yet despite that, father once fancied the family to all sit down for a traditional painting…”

You appraised him for a moment. He couldn’t have been much older than you. “That must have cost a lot more than coloured film. But I guess back then, getting a photo printed at the size of a painting wouldn’t have yielded something of good quality. I hope the painter he paid was good.”

The way V’s gaze slid over for a moment in thought, and then settled back onto your camera, something was clearly on his mind. “I’m sure many of the photos were lost. The painting itself might hardly be there anymore, after… well, no matter. I wasn’t often… around. For photos. Perhaps it has just occurred to me that I only barely exist in people’s memories. And now, I may barely exist at all.”

Well, you supposed the goth look wasn’t just for show. (He looked good in it, though a bit malnourished. Demon hunting probably wasn’t the most steady business.)

“Hey, might not be a good time for an existential crisis. Besides, it’s never too late to get in on a photo or two. Unless you’re actually camera shy?”

An unreadable smile was upon his lips. God you wished you could capture that. He might look a bit unhealthy, but that mysterious air about him, coupled with those contract markings and the silver cane (such an out-of-style thing to carry, but as far as you were concerned, it was one of his hunting tools, and a classy one, at that) made him still a desirable model. 

“No. So you are welcome to what photos you wish to take, so long as you promise to show me your results eventually.” He said as he handed you your camera back. “Though, if things do become more dangerous, please see to it that you value your safety, first.”

“Of course.”

And then you raised your camera; quick as a flash, you snapped a shot of V raising his teacup to his lips, eyes cast down at it. His eyelashes were long and thick, and lord his lips were soft. The way Shadow was looking at the camera, and Griffon was leaned in towards V’s teacup, made for a nice scene. 

You took another shot when he was finished with his tea, and had glanced up at you before setting the cup down. 

“For Mercy has a human heart

Pity, a human face;”

He said softly as he stood up. You had no idea what was going on in his head as he recited what was most likely another line from his book. So you could only smile and respond: “Leaving? I could get the door for you.”

He simply held up a finger to signal you to pause, and said with a wry smile: “Appreciated, but not needed. I may simply leave from whence I came. Griffon, come.” He called as he made his way towards your open balcony.

“Man, you hear that? What a slave driver.” But the demon bird flapped his wings and went from the back of your couch to V’s outstretched arm anyway. Shadow disappeared into… well, his shadow. 

V then said to you: “Thank you for the tea. May we meet again?”

You could only grin: “Yeah. See you around, V.”

You snapped one more photo for the day as he left: of the back of a lithe dark-haired hunter, one foot on the edge of your balcony railing, cane in left hand, and right arm held up to grasp at the talons of a beautiful large demonic bird. Griffon’s wings spread wide, preparing for the gliding free-fall they were about to take, sunlight showing the hidden blue tones in his dark feathers. 

V must have known you were going to take a shot then, because his head was turned, giving you a nice shot of the side profile of his face. The quirk of the corner of his lip was something of a teasing smirk. 

What an entrancing look. 

You certainly wouldn’t mind more photos of him in your collection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [*] Your wings are made of shadow, but can look like whatever you want!

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to my readers that comment who are not registered users, but in order to minimize undesired commentary from insensitive people, I refuse to allow them to hide behind the ability to make me guess on the source of such comments. I have life and a family to take care of outside of my fanworks, and stress from fanworks is undesired. I still love each and every one of you who have commented without an account, and I hope you continue to enjoy reading my works.


End file.
